


Ill Met by Twilight

by LeilaSecretSmith (orphan_account)



Series: Hushed [1]
Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Art, Gen, I'm pretty sure this version of Melkor does not know what a shirt is, One-sided Angbang, The Seduction of Mairon, artwork, but for how long?, even when he's still a sweet bby he's sassy, make sure you picture Melkor as shirtless, sassing your superiors, sassy Mairon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-06
Updated: 2018-02-06
Packaged: 2019-03-14 16:09:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13593681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/LeilaSecretSmith
Summary: It was not in the forges that Melkor first approached him. This, perhaps, should have been his first clue.





	Ill Met by Twilight

**Author's Note:**

> I finally made the Mairon half of the artwork that goes along with this and it gave me the kick in the rear I needed to get this stupid thing out of my head.

  
It was not in the forges that Melkor first approached him. This, perhaps, should have been his first clue.

Mairon was dressed in the lovely white and crimson robes he favored when not in the forge, his hair braided elaborately down his head—and what a joy, to feel his heavy braids brushing softly against his back instead of pinned neatly on his head! Aulë’s archive was quiet, as usual. Mairon reveled in the peace, humming softly to himself as he gathered up the old blueprints and diagrams he wanted. The thick vellum was soft and cool against his bared forearms as he cradled the heavy scrolls against his chest.

Finally, after one quick double-check, he straightened and left. The sky was dark, for here the lights of the Lamps lingered with less intensity, and for good purpose: the archive’s scrolls were protected by the weak light. Mairon paused just outside the doors and looked up at Varda’s stars with a pleased smile. Joy suffused him, and he felt compelled to sing a short hymn of praise to Eru Illúvatar.

Thus it was that Melkor came upon him, and the dark Vala saw this: Mairon’s head was tipped back, his eyes closed and an expression of joy upon his face. Dark, reddish eyelashes brushed against pale cheeks dusted with nebulae of freckles, like an inversion of the sky above. A golden headpiece glinted within the rich red of his hair and upon his forehead. The pure white of his robe outlined the strong slope of his shoulders, laying over the crimson underrobe that skimmed his hips before falling to the floor in a graceful mingling of white and red.

Melkor grinned in satisfaction at his timely arrival, bracing his elbow on his other hand and pressing the knuckle of his thumb against his lips in consideration. “What a lovely voice,” he said as the last note fell from Mairon’s lips. 

The Maia startled, turning sharply to face Melkor. His eyes widened, exposing the glowing gold of his irises, and Melkor didn’t miss the flash of caution in their molten depths. “Oh, my Lord Melkor,” he said quickly, bowing. “You honor me.”

“Do I?” Melkor smiled. “Your voice matches you, lovely one. I consider it only a statement of truth.”

Mairon swayed slightly, as though he barely resisted the urge to take a step back. His expression closed abruptly, a shutter of caution snapping shut over the lantern of his soul. “Ah… thank you, my Lord,” he said slowly, dipping his head.

Melkor’s eyes fell to the substantial pile of scrolls in Mairon’s arms. “Are you seeking to craft something particular, Mairon?” he asked, just a hint of slyness in his voice.

The Maia stiffened, so slightly that Melkor almost missed it. “A personal project, nothing more,” Mairon said, waving his free hand dismissively. “I desired a few older references not readily available.”

“If you need aid, or perhaps feedback, I would happily assist,” said Melkor.

Mairon’s shoulders became a rigid line. “No, thank you, my Lord,” said he with abrupt coolness. “I am trying to create, not merely change.” He winced as soon as the last word left his lips, fearing that his misstep might have angered the Vala.

But  Melkor laughed. “Create?” One hand rose indolently above his shoulder and suddenly there hung from his fingers a glowing pendant. It pulsed with magic of a kind Mairon had never felt; he drew in a sharp, startled breath.

The rich green light spilled over Melkor’s skin, casting his sharp features into relief. “Oh, darling,” he continued, a sly smile stretching across his face. “I can teach you to create things Aulë would never dare dream of.” 

Despite himself Mairon half-raised a hand, as if to reach out and grab the pendant. But he hesitated, pulled back slightly. What would the cost of such instruction be? Not cheap, surely. Melkor did not give gifts, after all. Lord Aulë would certainly be displeased if he chose to learn from Melkor, and it was that realization more than anything that shattered Mairon’s strange trance.

“I—” he stopped, shook his head, and finally retreated a step. A terrified pit opened in his stomach. He wrenched his golden eyes away from the Vala’s beguiling and compelling green. “No, thank you. Forgive me, my Lord, but I must go.” He turned, the skirts of his robe flying around his feet, and just before he disincarnated and fled he heard Melkor’s final suggestive purr.

“The offer  _ always  _ stands, lovely one.”

[](https://imgur.com/aZXkWp4)   
[](https://imgur.com/oWHDWJ1)


End file.
